Space to Lie
by Aki4
Summary: What Gojyo had--or rather, didn't have--before the coming of Gonou.


A Space to Lie  
  
*grin* pun intended.   
  
by Aki  
  
He could hear them now, the shouts and gods, the barking. He gritted his teeth and forced his legs to run faster. His head was pounding and swimming and he dragged the air into his lungs desperately, trying to clear his head and stop the burning in his heart. He thought he'd given them the slip, and then he'd heard them again. Not close, but coming closer.   
  
Why did there have to be dogs? He felt impossibly loud, completely exposed, boots pounding down the quiet dirt road. Overhead the night was clear. There were probably stars out if he looked, and enough of a moon for light, although not enough that he didn't stumble over the ruts. Everything was still and dark, everything except for him and the distant shouts. The not-so-distant shouts. He wondered if his breathing was as loud as it sounded to him and if the dogs could hear it, or whether they would just scent him out.   
  
He wondered what he smelled like. Probably alcohol and smoke. Not many things out here to confuse him with, unless he set a haystack on fire. The place looked so wholesome, he'd been half-disgusted, half-grateful to find a brothel. Although he shouldn't have been. Even wheat farmers probably wanted a night off now and then.  
  
And gods, he hadn't expected to find a girl like her. If you could even call her a girl. She was fourteen, of course she was a girl, what the hell else would you call her, even with those warm little breasts lying against his hands and knowing little smile, the fucking TEASE. Of course she hadn't said she was fourteen, she'd said she was seventeen, the lying bitch. But then he'd said he was nineteen so maybe it was almost fair.   
  
The mayor's daughter.  
  
Jesus Christ.  
  
Jesus fuckin' Christ.  
  
They were getting closer and not even the pure fear that shot into him could make him run any faster. He was panicking and he tried not to, looked around to see if there was anywhere he could hide, but how did you hide from dogs, couldn't they smell anything?  
  
Ahead of him the dark shape of a mill loomed, the first building that wasn't a farmhouse or a locked store and he wondered if it he could get inside somehow, if there was somehow a chance to hide. No. He didn't want to be holed up somewhere with angry men and dogs outside, even if it were made of stone. The problem with holing up was that you eventually had to come out. The first rule was to never run into corners. He knew that.  
  
The rhythmic splash-slap alerted him, ticking off the part of his mind that was unfogged and racing sluggishly. Water. Mills meant millponds, something he thought he'd seen somewhere. Huge wheels lying on their sides, catching the motion of the stream. Paddles that went around and around and did something on the inside, where he'd never been. He'd never understand these things and he didn't have to as long as he could still have his beer. He didn't have to know how these people made their money as long as he could take it. And thank gods for millponds because this was possibly his only chance.  
  
He splashed into the water, gasping at the cold, wincing at the noise. It was hard to wade in his heavy boots and he'd never learned how to swim. Jien could swim, had promised to teach him. Twice. He struggled towards the shadows under the bridge, feeling the mud suck at his feet, fighting the current.   
  
The pond was wide, wide enough that the opposite was lost in a distant dark impression of reeds. He wondered how deep it was. The dogs whined, suddenly close, and he felt his heart jump. Was it possible to learn how to swim on the spot? Desperately he pried off his boots and surged forward, trying to be quiet. Would they search the pond? What would they do if they caught him? Surely everyone would know that the girl had started it, had leaned over his shoulder and whispered in his ear scarcely an hour after he'd started playing.   
  
He cut off the line of thought before it grew more optimistic. However it had started, he knew how it would end. He'd be thrown in jail, or beaten, and he'd be lucky if it stopped there. The worse the prodigal son or the harlot daughter, the more wilfully blind the parents. He'd seen it before. What do you mean my son has gambling debts, you vagrant. He shaped the words with his mouth as he made it past the waterwheel's edge and under the bridge. The water was past his mouth and he tilted his chin up, waited as the men approached.  
  
"Ah, dammit, the dogs are going for the mill dam."  
  
"Think he's in there somewhere, then?"  
  
His blood, which was freezing in the chill of the water, abruptly froze.   
  
"Could be. Let's circle it."  
  
It took the men forever to complete one circuit, while the dogs sniffed eagerly around the perimeter. He had an insane urge to call out and expose himself, to end the agonizing suspense. He held his breath and ducked under as quietly as he could as they drew near. When his lungs were imploding he surfaced and tried not to gulp air too harshly.  
  
"Eh, he could've gone further downstream."  
  
"Or he could still be in there." A chuckle. "Poor bastard. Bet he thought he was going to have a cozy night of it."  
  
A snort. "If you ask me, Governor Huang oughta marry the randy little slut off as soon as possible, if he can't keep her at home where she ought to be."  
  
"Apparently she steals her servants' clothing and sneaks out whenever she can."  
  
"Rich people. They're all crazy. Here we have to sell our daughters into the whorehouse, and she turns tricks for free."  
  
He thought about those dark eyes and flushed cheeks and the crooked smile. He remembered the way she'd reached for him, the way he sometimes reached for a beer at the end of a bad day. She'd been genuinely pretty, with thin pink lips that knew how to move against his, and a neat oval face framed by arching brows. And she hadn't asked any questions, hadn't said how pretty his hair was. Red, what a funny color. The cleverest tongues were the silent ones, and her tongue had been oh, so clever. Even in his predicament the memory sent a small hot thrill down to his groin.  
  
The voices were closer. They were walking over the bridge. They were standing above him almost. They were walking past.   
  
"What'll happen if we don't find him, you think?"   
  
One of them spit into the pond. "Probably get blamed and dismissed from our posts."  
  
His companion sounded panicked. "Shouldn't we keep looking then?"   
  
"Nah, I was only joking. Besides, do you really want to? You can jump in the pond, if you're feeling so enthusiastic."  
  
"No..." the other man sounded dubious. "What'll we say?"  
  
"Say that he jumped into the stream and the dogs got confused. Besides, they don't know that we picked up the trail again. Just say we lost him back in town." The voices were fading towards the other end of the pond. The other man was still protesting weakly. He heard the first man respond impatiently, "The posters will be up by tomorrow anyhow. There's no place to hide in a town this size. If we don't catch him tonight then we'll catch him tomorrow. Besides, our shift is ending. Don't you want a cup of hot wine?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
He waited for what seemed an eternity, body freezing into numbness, after the voices and the frustrated dogs had drifted back down the road. Finally he trudged back out, coughing and spluttering when a sudden dip in the pond floor filled his nostrils with cold muddy water. He rubbed at his limbs, pounding at them in an attempt to restore feeling. A light breeze was blowing and he shivered violently, and coughed again.   
  
He'd left all his money behind. He always kept it upfront at the bar to balance his tab. He got better service that way. He'd been doing decently until the girl had come along. He'd already won enough to pay for a night's stay and a few dishes with meat. He would win it back, though. That was the advantage of traveling light. There was less loss when you had to leave your luggage.   
  
When he realized that he wouldn't be drying off anytime soon he began to walk away from the pond, further up the road. If they were serious about the posters he'd have to spend the rest of the night walking. The man was right, there was no place to hide in a town this size. And he hated being cornered.   
  
As he walked, he wished that he'd kept his boots on. The road wasn't too hard but his feet would miss them if he had to cross any stony fields, or if the cold deepened into a frost. But they were sinking in the sticky mud somewhere in the pond, and he would live without them. If he'd learned anything from his sixteen years, it was that he didn't need much. Just something to gamble. And maybe a space to lie down.  
  
He hunched his shoulders against the merciless breath of the wind, clenched his jaw against the chattering of his teeth.  
  
Sometimes, it seemed, he didn't even need that.  
  
~end  
  
More short, late-night nonsense. Feedback is begged for, shamelessly. PLEASE.  
  
NOTE: in a few days, i'll have my livejournal going. all new fiction will probably show up there. the account is www.livejournal.com/absenceofmind or somesuch. (thanks 2 K. Firefly for the number!) 


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